She Waits
by SusieCues
Summary: Jack is bound for his rendezvous beyond his beloved horizon, what he wants most, as it were. But what if what he wants takes him to the place he could do without seeing again? Jack/Angelica, Jack/OC
1. Chapter 1

Jack, pondering over his rendezvous beyond his beloved horizon, steered with a bottle of rum in hand and mumble-humming over and over, "Ah, this is where I be...a pirate's life for me," until Gibbs urged him to surrender the Pearl's helm to him. The hour grew late, but there was a nice stiff running breeze promising to carry the ship onward. Ever onward to where nobody except their sentimentally sloshed captain knew.

He squinted into the bottle that was almost empty and pouted as he stepped aside to let Joshamee, Jack's devoted first mate, take over. Gibbs said with a sigh, "Ah, Jack, me boy-o, it is my unqualified opinion that you could do with a bit of rest."

Swaying from side to side, but remarkably not about to fall down, Jack haltingly replied, "Rest? Rest? There's no rest for the..." His voice trailed and he frowned in that roguish, boyish befuddled way of his.

" _Wicked_? Captain?" Gibbs camouflaged his snicker by coughing.

"No! Not what I was going to say!" Jack insisted, stumbling against the Pearl's weathered wheel, which Joshamee had tight hold of. The ship rolled to port as a huge wave buffeted the majestic sailing vessel, sending her knavish seafarers scrambling. They laughed and cavorted while Scrum played and sung a lively tune as a full moon appeared across the bow.

"Aye, Captain Jack, this be a lively shantee you're partial to," the broad-faced man with a kindly, almost genteel nature, put to Sparrow.

Jack gave Scrum an indulgent wave of his deeply-soiled hand.

The crew's bellies were full and one and all were of a mind to sail with Sparrow, follow wherever he led them, because there was none better than Captain Jack. He could be demanding when there was cause for him to be, but he didn't have it in himself to be harsh. Customarily outlandish, and endearing, hence his grand appeal. He had a mind to follow the stars and not be governed by the whims and wiles of fate, nor the dictates of maps and charts. He'd make his own way, been doing so ever since he'd been a plucky lad.

Currently, they were bound for a certain island where a pretty, Spanish castaway might still be, Jack hoped. As improbable as that might be; but stranger things Jack had thoroughly seen many a time before.

"Steady as she goes, Captain," Gibbs reported, casting a devil-may-care eye upon a skirring Jack.

"Aye. Then, I shall retire to my quarters to lay me head down and share my bed with another bottle of rum."

The ship juddered, riding high upon another proud wave and Sparrow nearly flagged, saving himself from a close-up with the deck in the nick of time.

Gibbs eyed Jack charily. "I'd go easy on the rum."

Filled to the gills with alcohol, he rarely ceased craving more. But it was never oblivion he was after, nor release. It was peace of a very rarified kind, yet predictably elusive.

"Why must I go easy? Rum's me bestest friend, and I'll have you know that, thanks to Hector, though his death untimely, quite, I won't have to ask the infernal, most dreaded question of all times: 'Why's all the rum gone?'"

 _That_ running joke was growing older each time Jack made mention of it. Gibbs frowned, giving the helm a sturdy turn as he replied, "All I'm asking is you go a little easier. It's not a criticism, more a request."

Of the many bottles that were in the Pearl's hold, a great number of them still remained, safe and sound. Hector had truly known how to hoard rum. If Jack and the crew embraced a bit of temperance, perhaps the supply would last them quite a while. Or, not; all of them, except for Gibbs, who hated the thought of being a rummy, were notorious drinkers.

"Request denied," Jack flouted, turned tipsily on his right heel and shashayed-staggered away as he disembarked from the poop deck. His bottle of rum never slipped from his hand. Far from that happening owing to the stranglehold he had on it. Suddenly, all before he could exhale another breath, little 'Jack,' Barbosa's monkey, and still the bane of Jack Sparrow, ran up the length of Jack's body to find its favorite resting place atop the long-haired pirate's shoulder. The 'evil beast' buried its face into the niche it loved best, Jack's neck and made monkey-sounding noises of contentment.

"It would seem Barbosa's mascot has found a new home," Gibbs jibed, giving the boat wheel a commanding jerk. The calmness of the sea was deceptive as this seasoned sailor well knew. The wind continued gathering strength, driving the Pearl ever onward without letup.

"Let it be known," Jack huskily spluttered and slurred, "that I've still a mind to feast on this nasty beast!"

Furry, little 'Jack' tried swiping Sparrow's bottle of rum away from him, and Jack retaliated by jerking violently to cast the monkey off his left shoulder.

"Just kidding," he said under his breath to the simian. "I hear tell monkey meat is tough."

The clothes-wearing chatterbox grinned at Jack in its own endearing way.

"And if you've a mind to sneak into my cabin whilst I sleep, think again."

The monkey protested, lifting his tail and switching it in time to its staccato shrieks.

"I'll have none of your wretched discontent," Jack sniped. He beat a hasty retreat to his quarters before the little ape who thought he had a right to be as bold and as mouthy as he wanted to be could catch up with him. Once Jack locked his cabin door, he would revel in the luxury of his cabin being a monkey-free-zone once more. Not five minutes later, Jack lay sprawled on his bunk, quaffing more rum. But instead of feeling greatly woozy still, a sudden clarity of thought, coupled with astonishment, seized him as his cabin stopped spinning before his watery eyes.

"Jack..." a disembodied voice said proudly with a certain lilting, seductive Latin flair.

Hiccuping and gasping at the same time, Jack was sorely startled. He held his breath longer than he ever thought he could. "An..." He shook his head from side-to- side like a madman, abruptly halted the incessant head-wagging and froze with his mouth agape.

 _Did she know? How could she_? Well, maybe her knowing wasn't a monumental mystery, truth be told. Since having made his decision to embark on this journey, she'd been on his mind constantly. Not even oceans of rum could wash away the memory of her from his eager mind. Her fire burned within his heart. His compass led the way, but it was a mere servant to what his mind and heart wanted most.

"Do you think you'll find me...after all this time? What makes you think will?" Though absent in the flesh, her voice substituted for her posturing.

"An-Angelica..." Jack mumbled, trying to sit up in his bed, but faltering miserably. The rum bottled slipped from his hand, but not a drop stained the unwashed bed covers. He'd drained the bottle long ago. "S-show yourself!"

"Why do you search for me, Jack" the voice posed, deliberately meant to tantalize.

"Be-because wh-what I did t-to you w-was un-un-unthinkable," he admitted with eyes too unfocused to see, but desperately scouring the cramped surroundings trying to glimpse the unseeable. "Over these years, I realize, I did you a most egregious disservice. I prayed you were still alive." Was he really so drunk? He wasn't the most reliable judge. This last bottle...how many did it make? Having lost count long ago, he didn't see how it mattered. "I take it then you must still be alive," Jack groggily presumed.

"And what makes you think your small apology can appease me?"

"You mean I'm _not_ appeasing you?" he countered sweeping his cabin again with wild abandon once more. He stuck his head beneath his bunk and laughter filled his cabin.

" _No_ , Jack, you're _not_ appeasing me...but you are amusing me, as you always do."

" _That_ I believe," he muttered, getting out of the bunk to stand with his arms extended at his sides and his hands wide open. What was he expecting? That she appear to fill them? "Angelica!"

"Yes, Jack."

"Is it _truly_ you?"

"Are you still so very charming?" the voice, its sultry cadence making Jack's heart beat even faster, challenged.

"When once we're together again, my sweet, I'll let _you_ be the judge," Jack enjoined. A part of him, long buried, began to throb with life again. He had no words that could justly convey how much he'd missed her after so long a time. Her face, her neck, those lips, like ripe pomegranates, beckoning him to lose himself in them.

"And am I what you want most...now?" The voice dragged out this last inducement, landing comfortably in Jack's receptive mind. "My sweet...I never stopped loving you, Jack. I wouldn't know how..."

"Aye, nor I, you," he confirmed, whirling around, all too willing to swear that those phantom words had been whispered directly into his ear. "Angelica. We're no longer adrift. No longer cursed. I'll find you."

"I found you."

"Ah, then, love, perhaps you'd make finding you, _literally_ , easier by telling me just exactly where you are? Perish the thought that you're still marooned on that desolate, footprint of an island I ill-conceivably left you on."

The voice chuckled and replied, "Where I am...you've been before."

"I have?" he questioned non-sensibly, raising two fingers to his mouth to worry his lower lip. Muttering more to himself than his spooky, audible visitor, Jack said, "I've been to too many places I'd sooner not revisit, ever again."

"No? You wouldn't return to _at world's end_? Not even for me?" the voice appealed, its whine stabbing Jack to his heart as it skipped many beats.

"Why on earth are you there, fair, Angelica?"

"Journey here, and you'll find out. Hurry, Jack. Or lose me for all eternity," the voice pleaded as it died out.

"Angelica, Angelica!" he bleated, but all went silent. He stared blankly at his cabin door, wishing in all preposterousness that she'd somehow come through it. "At world's end, you say? _Bugger_!" He fell back upon his bunk, muttering that word over and over until he fell into a fitful, tempestuous sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jack awoke the next morning, rich sunlight streaming into his cabin, he had to think a moment. Oh, that's right. He was aboard the Pearl. Hector Barbossa was dead; the man had sacrificed himself for his daughter Carina, who planned to wed the 'evil spawn' of Will Turner and the exquisite Elizabeth. All of that was no dream. It had really happened, but somehow it felt very long ago. Jack balked, shaking the covers of his bed, still dismayed. How could his beloved Elizabeth have not remembered all they'd been to each other. True, Will had caused her to have a change of heart, had stolen it. But Jack would never deny that she harbored unspoken, secret, blazingly tender feelings for him.

Fully convinced of this, he'd carry on. In fact, he was, carrying on, exactly the way he'd always lived. Angelica needed him and he intended to sail to her. No, At World's End hadn't been his first pick where to find her. He'd thought to seek her on the little island. Last night's mysterious voice had changed his heading. He was about to shut his eyes and mull over how he would break the news to his crew. The Farthest Gate, the true name of At World's End, would be their true course. An involuntary shudder rattled Jack's spine. A sudden dread gnawed at his innards.

"Truly, I must be mad for even considering going for her there..."

To brave the weird and mysterious shoals, guided by the Mao Kun map. Sheer, utter madness! And yet, he was in possession of the map; Hector had shown it to him. It lay upon the desk in his cabin.

And, Jack was...mad for _la_ _hermosa hispana_ , driven by Angelica's Latin blood to make her his.

His heart overruled his mind and in the end, at the end of this day, he plucked up his nerve. He announced to one and all where they were going. Jack looked each man in his eye, daring the sailor to decry he was mad for even suggesting such a course.

Though Gibbs and Scrum looked taken aback, they held their tongues. At least for the moment. Their reticence to say a word renewed Jack's enthusiasm.

"Might I ask," Joshamee began..."Jack."

Waving both his hands above his head, his fingers fluttering, but not snapping them, like a fey Flamenco dancer, Sparrow invited, "Ask away, man."

"What be the reason for going to Davy Jones' Locker? World's end?" Gibbs stood before Jack, who was steering the ship with a stern hand and giving the first mate an even sterner eye.

Jack didn't shrink from Gibbs' equally intense scrutiny. The captain, his heart swelling with pride for the love he felt for his lost lady announced, "Angelica Teach needs our help."

Joshamee scoffed with a distinct growl to his voice and his gaze hounded Jack. "Since when have you ever felt the need to lend yourself to such vagaries? Unless there's definitely something in it for you? As far as I remember, from what you told me, you left her to fend for herself on that deserted island with no food, no water, only a gun to kill herself with. What drives you to believe she's at world's end? It's daft, man."

"Aye? Aye?" Scrum led the rest of the crew in voicing that concern. "Nobody said a word about going there. Why would we? It's dangerous. Unthinkable, in-it?"

The wee man, Marty, along with the fiery-tongued Jamaican, Pike, wagged their heads, clearly disinclined to lend their support.

"You 'pect us to follow like sheep wherever you lead? No matter the ruin it's sure to bring us?" he challenged.

Jack threw the stout objector and the yellow-toothed minstrel, Scrum, along with the rest of his rebellious crew, a weighty look to silence them one and all. "Who're you tellin', mates? I've been. Was trapped there until most of you brave souls here braved the impossible to rescue me from that unearthly prison, and lived to tell the tale."

"Aye, Scrum," Gibbs assured, but looked unsettled nevertheless. "But it's not an undertaking for the faint of heart, eh, Jack. Being that we're older and wiser, eh?"

"Older and wiser, aye. But, who here are faint of heart? Come now, speak up. I've always been of the opinion that all of you are the bravest of the brave. Am I laboring under a misconception?" He stared them in their shifty eyes. "Well-am I?"

Heartily, his crew, which he'd cowed, answered as one man, "Nay, nay, Captain Sparra! We be the bravest of the brave! Aye! Aye!"

"And, that being said, mates...we make for the Farthest Gate. No fear. No trepidations." He neglected to add, _'To seek the treasure of me 'eart_! "There ye be, good stalwart lads, one and all!"

"There is one more question I feel it fitting be asked, Captain," Gibbs said, with his right eyebrow highly arched.

"Nay, no more questions," Jack spat, having begun to grow disappointed. The monkey ran up his arm and scowled them down in simian fashion. Jack had his eyes trained on the stars winking into view, twinkling serenely high above them at this hour, twilight. Was mutiny on their minds? With fierce determination in his eyes, he ignored them.

Gibbs wouldn't be denied, though and he eagerly posed, "Why is rescuing her at world's end important to _us_?"

Well, at least the man had said, 'us, and not _you_.' Jack flashed him a trifling grin and haggled, "Suffice it to say...we have unfinished business, she and I. Savvy?"

"What sort of unfinished business, Jack? What? Speak it!" Gibbs prompted.

 _She is what I want most, now_...was on the tip of his tongue, but instead of coming out with that, he spoke in riddles, before his mind had the chance to catch up with his tongue.

"She once told me she's the key to untold riches. Riches beyond our wildest imaginations. I mean to have the likes of those riches." He raised his voice, infusing fire into it. "Who's with me, men? Who wants to be scathingly, impossibly rich? Rich! Rich!"

"Pirates' life!" his crew hollered back, their cries matching the fire of Jack's zeal. His men, in full-throated earnestness, began chanting: "We'll be rich! We'll be rich, rich, rich! Richer than Barbossa! Yea! Yea! Yea! Three cheers for Captain Jack Sparra! Who leads us to riches beyond our wildest dreams!"

Hadn't it been that comely lass sibylline Carina Smyth, learning she was a Barbossa, now, in all likelihood, Turner, now, who'd queried, " _Are pirates that stupid_?"

Basking in their unabashed enthusiasm, the master of the Pearl smiled, and, gloating, he thought in satisfaction... _Aye, dear, Angelica, I'll brave those falls for you. I'll sail this ship through waters that reflect stars so perfectly that it's impossible to find the horizon. I'll do that for you, my sweet, 'cause what's beyond my beloved horizon is you, love._

"Rich, rich, rich!" Their chant had reached fever pitch under Jack's watchful, smiling eyes.

Gibbs, nudging him, quietly said, "Seriously, Jack, there never were, nor never will be anyone the likes of you."

Nodding and grinning cheekily, Sparrow lent his glinting gold tooth, as the dying rays of the sun when they hit it, to confirm Joshamee's candid opinion.

"I come from a long line of-"

"Scallywags," Joshamee handily finished for him. "To the last." A life of piracy had its way of bringing one's true character, or lack thereof, to the fore.

"Enterprising seafarers who were never above a bit of..." Jack rolled his coal black eyes and plied, "Good-natured skullduggery."


	3. Chapter 3

Dead girl floating...adrift in open ocean, with nothing to cling to save a broad piece of floating driftwood that had once been a part of the ship she'd been aboard. That vessel had sunk several days ago. Sadly, this sliver of wood she clung to wasn't broad enough though for her lanky limbs and glistening torso. She'd surrendered her confining dress long ago, and was clothed only in knickers. A lone shark circled her, making her heart skip too many ragged beats. She was going to die, she thought, as more seawater filled her briny mouth. Her skin was shriveled. How many days did this one make since the barque she'd sailed on had gone down? Five days? Ten? Possibly fifteen? It was difficult for her to remember with any accuracy. She was cold, hungry and very waterlogged.

The thought of enduring another storm, coming out of nowhere mattered little now.

She was at death's door and unless some passing ship came along, she surely would die. That desperately hoped for ship needed to materialize soon, because in the next few moments, she would become shark food. She raised her head as high as she could manage, lifting her eyes to the cerulean blue skies and sighed her desperate plea.

"Oh, dear God...please, please. Save me. I sorely need a miracle."

Her accent, an exotic whisper, a cross between French and Spanish, hung heavily in the salty air.

"I'm not your faithful servant, although, I've tried to live my life as honorably as possible. Despite my failings." Her eyes dragged her down to the salt-sotted wood and the tears in her eyes mingled with seawater. She closed her eyes tight, murmuring. She prayed the shark wouldn't be the answer to her tearful prayer. Upon the breeze, she thought she heard...

"There, off the bow!"

It was a man's voice; the cry of an Englishman, or so she thought. She wasn't entirely sure if she'd truly heard that voice, or merely imagined its august sound. Until...that stalwart voice was joined by other raucous voices.

"It's a woman, Captain!"

The strident, agitated voices of the rabble swiftly drew nearer. With each breath, she hovered between gratitude and rabid fear as the sea pitched her back and forth. The shark, not fearing men, might decide to finish her off before they could get to her. The nearer the ship...a black-hulled vessel with dark, billowing sails, glided to her, the steadier, and more confident she became that they'd get to her in time. She closed her eyes, continuing to pray even more fervently, her breaths leaving her in puffs.

"Miss! Miss! Ahoy!"

She lifted up her head, alerting them that she wasn't carrion. There was still life in her clammy body that'd suffered countless shocks and strains, at the mercy of fickle tides and errant gales. Her teeth chattering, weakly, she spoke, "Yes. I'm alive. Thank God! You're here! Thank God! I'll never stop thanking him!"

She'd muttered those words, lacking enough breath from little energy and being dazed.

The ageless sea grew calmer...her salvation in the form of this ship sat upon the drink like a merciful beacon, filling her with hope as all hands, lined up at portside, craning their necks to get a good look at the beautiful survivor with her frilly underwear plastered to her lovely form and her light auburn glistening like opals in the stark light of day. They watched as the Pearl came alongside her splinter of timber and gawked, seeing the female Jonah press the palms of her hands into the Pearl's barnacled hull. All eyes nearly popped and quite a few of the crew gasped as they observed her level her mouth even with the side of the ship and she planted her lips on a less rough portion of hull to kiss the tried and true war brig.

Even Jack, surveying the curious goings-on with rapt attention was moved to exclaim, "Quick, fetch her up!" She'd kissed the Pearl! The daftest thing!" She's gone mad, I daresay. But, then again, who's to say one of us in her situation wouldn't do the same, eh?" He sped down the brace of steps from the poop deck, his eyes affixed to the winsome, gamely castaway. Soon to be relieved of that wretched condition as he lent a hand to haul her over the gunwale and onto the deck that had been exhaustively swabbed just a half hour ago.

Scrum, looking her over with an appreciative eye commented, "Aye. She's the worse for wear, but the sea didn't souse her. Master Gibbs, your eyes were never truer to spot her from such a ways off. And not even with a spyglass."

"Well done, Gibbs," Jack readily joined in praising and didn't hesitate offering the girl his coat. He hadn't given what he'd done a second thought as she covered herself up with his trusty garment. Thanking him with her eyes, she gratefully accepted his arm for support. Seeing his crew had the bedraggled girl hemmed in too close for her comfort, he stepped into their midst and was beside the partially-nude girl. Even in this pitiable state, she recognized immediately what her rescuers were.

 _Pirates_ , flashed through her befuddled brain. Dear Lord save her, again, from their deceitful, rapacious hands. She held herself and her tongue; her present circumstance dictating that she offer them her deepest gratitude. "Sirs, one and all, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for not leaving me in the sea to die. All I have is my indebtedness with which to repay you. I know, in this world, not...not much..." Her head swam, the faces around her seemed to gel before her eyes that stung and were growing cloudy. What she wished to say stalled on her tongue; she could only offer a trembling smile that took much effort. She raised her eyes to gaze at the swaggering fellow, with his magnetic eyes and teeth that glinted in the sunshine, who was colorfully clad. His tri-corn hat sat jauntily atop his head. Beneath his hat, a bandana sheathed his forehead and impressively long dreadlocks with beads, feathers and other unusual trinkets stuck in them.

He wore a ring on each of his fingers, she couldn't help but notice. His vest was cinched by a long red scarf; she saw it was silk. His breeches were dark and sort of baggy and disappeared into his worn, tall boots. The man's face, his eyes were so large, made that way by the smudged black liner shading them, drew her eyes. Each time their eyes met, she warmed that much more. His groomed moustache and goatee, along with braided beard, lent him memorable distinction. She'd often read about pirates and their ne'er-do-well exploits, but to be standing in the presence of one the likes of this dashing specimen, made thinking clearly that much harder.

Imbued with renewed vigor, she kindly submitted, "Might I have a bit of water? I've neither eaten, nor drunk fresh water in so long..."

"Immediately." Jack ordered Pike to get her some. "No worries," Jack said, then asked her what her name was. What the name of the ship she'd been on was. Candidly, he offered, "The sea isn't usually so kind, dear."

His questions seemed too difficult to handle by all the squinting and frowning she did. But, hearing him call her 'dear' made her blush. She was quite the toothsome sight when she did.

Before she had some of their water, she tried hard again to remember what her own name was at least. Failing, the girl looked even more done in, on the verge of spilling tears.

"Not to worry, dear. You'll remember soon enough," Jack comforted softly, marveling how even in her bedraggled state, how comely she was. How easy it was to set his eyes on her and couldn't take them off of her. He stared openly, several times already, forgetting what more he had to say to her, thoroughly engrossed in her face.

To her left, the big Jamaican, Pike, standing right on top of the rescued young miss, whispered close to her ear, "Drink a bit down, _gyal._ Will do ya more good than trying to think of what your name is." He winked at her by way of encouragement. "That's a good _criss ting_." He'd paid her a large compliment by the mere flick of his tongue. It was no exaggeration; the girl was breathtaking despite her wretched condition.

His presence and Jack's were comforting and the feminine stranger in their midst lacked adequate words to express how much she appreciated all that they'd done for her thus far. Before she could get her hands on the deeply scooped-out dipper that held the water, she swooned. She ached all over, now, more than when they'd first hauled her aboard. All at once, the sunlight became all too bright as it meshed shadings and colors together into a confusing mishmash. Reeling badly, the girl fell back against Pike as Jack's great coat fell away from her beautiful body.

All hands on deck gasped as one man. Jack stood mesmerized, the contrast of the girl's pinkish, alabaster skin against Pike's dark brown complexion held Jack spellbound. The Jamaican caught the girl as soon as she fainted dead away, and he felt he had to remark, "Where will ya have her, Captain?"

"Why, in my bed, of course," he fired back in a bark, making no secret of it that Pike take her to his quarters without further delay. He breathed in sharply and on Pike's heels said, "The poor dear needs robust looking after, which it's my duty to see to personally, being captain."

"Why, of course, Jack," Gibbs snidely rejoined, tossing Sparrow an impudent, wiseacre eye. "And you won't want to be disturbed, now would you?"

He threw the first mate's guff back in his face and retorted for the benefit of all his men, who made it obvious that they were thinking the same thing Gibbs was, "I want lots of food and rum brought to my cabin straight away. Savvy? As soon as she comes to, she needs to regain her strength. I'm taking charge of that personally." He chuckled, thrilled with the prospect of having her all to himself. He hoped that she wouldn't find him distasteful just because he was a pirate. She hadn't acted as though being rescued by them was a fate worse than death.

But, then again, females were known for their unpredictability. He certainly knew that. Every woman he'd ever known fit that mold.

"Of course you will, Captain," Gibbs mumbled, watching Jack go ahead off Pike, who toted the bonnie lass securely in his powerful arms. "Aye, Jack. You, and your wenches and your rum...that will _never_ change, for as long as the seas have waves." The meaty-handed man clapped those calloused hands of his together and ordered the crew to get back to work. Shipboard labor never got done by itself. He stationed himself back at the boat wheel with a caressing wind tousling his hair and the pristine ocean before them as it beckoned the Pearl to navigate propitious currents that would carry them to At World's End.


	4. Chapter 4

The newest member aboard the Pearl startled herself awake, finding herself in a fairly compact bed that was remarkably fragrant in a most pleasing way. Who would've thought that the scent of hibiscus would be wafting in the air amid these nautical surroundings? Upon opening her eyes, for a fleeting moment, she imagined she was still adrift at sea. A mass of blankets was piled high atop her pleasingly-feminine form, but an unpleasant clamminess encompassed her...well, that explained her discomfort. She still wore the same soaked knickers she'd been rescued in. Of course, she should've been thankful for small miracles, which she was. She could've been undressed by some randy pirate and might've been sorely dishonored even as she lay here, utterly all alone.

The mere thought of such a man handling her while she being unconscious stirred her to recall that interesting one who'd doffed his overcoat in her behalf. Would she see that dashing, sly-looking man who'd seen fit to diminish her semi-nakedness? What had become of him? Why was there no one afoot? As these thoughts raced through her mind, she was suddenly awestruck by the knowledge that a void in her memory as to who she was no longer existed.

"I'm Nicoletta Faberge..."

Beyond the confines of this cubbyhole of a room, she thought she heard voices, very faint. She strained, hoping to confirm that she was right, but all had gone quiet. Perhaps she only imagined she'd heard people speaking as the ship creaked as it rolled. Happily, she knew her own name, and slowly, ever so softly, she repeated it.

"Nicoletta Faberge. That's who I am. Thank God I can remember such. It's frightfully disturbing when one can't recall something so elementary..."

Looking the cabin over, she let out a profound sigh of lament. Ridding herself of these soggy, malodorous clothes was a must. The stench shrouding her was cancelling out the sweet-smelling fragrance of hibiscus, and that was a dour shame. She noted how wrinkled her skin was, how stinky her hair smelled, how woebegone she must appear, and yet, still and all, she recounted her blessings. The biggest one being she was still alive.

 _Change into what_ , she asked herself. As her eyes continued to scour the immediate area, her hunt was proving fruitless. The prospect of making herself more presentable flagging. Maybe it would help if she got out of this bed and searched more thoroughly in what looked to be that rundown wardrobe, off to her left. Just about to, she vacillated, hearing what she thought she hadn't heard clearly now.

A man was speaking, his accent decidedly English, but not very cultured. He was drawing nearer, and the closer he came, the more her expectancy grew because she recognized that voice.

It belonged to that dashing fellow, who'd ravished her with his roguish eyes. What was his name? Had he introduced himself? If he had, she couldn't remember what he'd called himself. _Wait_! Her heart beat faster as she saw the cabin door open, creaking upon its hinges. Maybe it would be wiser to feign still being asleep, she surmised, unsure of the imminent intruder's intentions. Still and all, something told her this man was more brash than bite. Even so, she drew back down in the bed, her head tucked into the pillow of sorts, and shut her eyes, telling herself to breathe restfully, as she would in sleep.

Without seeing, she knew he was in the cabin, advancing on the bed. Her facial cheeks burned, and the ones of her derriere did too, somewhat. She heard him mumbling something incomprehensible. She was sorely aware then that the hibiscus scent was being overpowered by the strong odor of some description of liquor. Odd. And then she realized the man who had inserted himself in these cramped quarters must have doused himself with whatever the unidentified strong drink was.

She had begun sweating profusely underneath these blankets. Maybe she should just surrender the pretense and stop pretending to be fast asleep. Something internal told her, _"Not so fast..."_

Jack, his eyes fastened on the bed where this tasty morsel of pulchritude lay, sashayed his way over to where he was accustomed to lay his head. He was all for seeing whether or not the fetching lass might like a more personal touch to being ministered to. It was rare that any woman ever objected to his ilk of ministrations. How would he fare with this... For reasons he couldn't quite fathom, he couldn't bring himself to brand her a wench.

"I say, dearie... Are you awake? Or are you...playing the possum?" He'd crept to the side of the bed and stood over her, his nose even with hers, as he thought... _such a perfectly beautiful nose. Tempting enough to kiss...and I think I shall..._ His lips hovered over the bridge of that picture-perfect nose, then traveled downward along its impeccable slope. Jack trembled inside, impatient to descend upon the pointed peak cresting above her pinprick nostrils. Moments before his lips pecked her peak, the comely girl stirred, unable to maintain the pretense of being fast asleep. When she opened her eyes, seeing Jack about to plant his lips into her nose, she gasped.

"Oh..."

Abruptly rearing back, he repeated her exclamation. " _Oh_!"

The cabin went deafeningly silent as its two occupants were sorely flustered.

"I'm dreadfully sorry to have awakened you," Jack offered, teetering between remorse and exacerbation. What must she think of him? And, yes, _it did matter_ because this lovely creature was uncommonly breathtaking. She surely took his away despite her present bedraggled state, which deserved being rectified as soon as he figured out how, and where she should bathe. Just because he forgoed bathing didn't mean she should. Forcing her to would be insulting for a lady of her sublime nature.

Had he just thought of her in those terms? Indeed, he had, and it was shocking, but the more Jack mulled it over, the more he liked the idea of thinking about her in those celestial terms. Why had he been reluctant to brand her a _wench_? Because, anyone with eyes could see she wasn't one.

She was a lady of a certain breeding, peculiar to aristocrats, and, even if he was one of the most notorious womanizers this side of Port Royal, he felt he owed it to her to treat her as such. Although...she certainly did not behave as though she had a silver spoon shoved up her arse. Which felt like a breath of fresh air, considering what little run-ins he'd had with the likes of those people, who believed they were more than mere mortals.

"No apology needed, sir. It is I who should be apologizing to you," the demur girl offered softly, her shiny, though damp ringlets of lovely hair quivering as she spoke.

Mesmerized for moments, Jack was tongue-tied, unable to keep his eyes from her exquisite countenance, which should've been immortalized by some Italian painter. Who knew? Maybe it already had been, and it hung in some rich person's mansion. "And why would you be apologizing to me?"

"Why, _Captain_..."

Had he told her he was? Jack couldn't recall whether he had or he hadn't before she'd passed out. No matter. She surmised wisely and he leered at her, but immediately reigned himself in and lessened his leer to a grin dripping with simpatico. "Yes?" he bantered, his eyes growing as large as saucers.

"Since you are, and this is your cabin. And I'm in your bed-"

"To be sure, Dearie, you are in my bed..." Jack quavered coquettishly, advancing on her, but not as impudently as he might have, say if it had been a flashy wench occupying his bed.

"I've befouled your bedding dreadfully. For that I'm thoroughly sorry, and I'll make amends by seeing to its laundering. It's the least I can do, since I shall never be able to thank you enough for coming to my rescue."

It still tickled him...having watched her press her lips to his Pearl's seaworthy hull. A woman after his own heart, able to perceive the grandeur of this great ship. He'd never literally kissed the Pearl, but on occasions, he'd stroked her wheel, caressed her stern and fondled her rigging in unabashed affection.

Jack drew back, and standing before this interesting girl as regally as he thought she merited, genuflected first, then immediately followed that by bowing deeply upon one knee.

His groveling only made her more self-effacing, as she flushed, the color of her throat a deep pink. "Please, Captain. Please, don't go on so. I'm forever in your debt. Such a display is entirely unnecessary, and making me feel...uncomfortable."

"Perish that thought, my dove. I'd never want to make you feel that. Might I suggest...I locate an area where you could refresh yourself in complete and utter privacy. Far from any prying eyes of lusty seamen, uh..." No, he didn't know her name, and it was high time he did. "What is your name, dearie?"

As forthcoming as ever, she revealed, "I'm Nicoletta. Nicoletta Faberge."

 _Charming...rolls off me tongue_...rang in Jack's overactive brain, beaming at her all the while. _She's French_ , _and it goes without saying how much I love the French_...

"You speak English superbly, if I may be so bold as to remark."

Proud to speak of her heritage, Nicoletta, said, "That's because I was raised in London. I was born in Paris, into a family of perfumers..."

Jack shrank in his boots, roiling in self-consciousness. What must she think of the stench aboard the Pearl? It was all right for their kind, but she, coming from people whose stock and trade was filling noses with fine fragrances? He'd tried making it smell better in here, but the hibiscus aroma hadn't stood a chance in the face of the overwhelming fetor of funk. He shrank back in shame.

She carried blissfully on, caught up in all the attention he was paying her. Her memory was back on track. "My father started the business years and years ago. He met my mother in _Sevilla_ , while on business. They fell in love and wed. He felt moving to London bode well, and so, there Mum and I came to be."

"Tell me, though, Nicoletta," Jack inveigled, not meaning to dredge up painful images, "how did you come to be shipwrecked?"

"I was on my way to Havana, Cuba, to visit some of my mother's relatives..." She cringed, not at the thought of that, and succeeded in making Jack feel worse than he already felt over her plight. "The last thing I remember is...being cast overboard..." She wrapped her arms about her furled legs and buried her head into them.

"What!" Jack roared, aghast. "Why, pray tell, would that be done to _you_?"

Shivering, she unmoored her face from her flesh to whisper, "The ship I was on... _The Nauticus_ , came under attack...by..." Sounding strangled, she forced out: "By _pirates_...I refused being ravished by those dogs, I fought them off tooth and nail, so their heinous captain ordered I be thrown into the sea to be devoured by sharks, or whatever other bloodthirsty, beastly creatures that scavange the deep."

"Pi- _pirates_?" Jack squeaked, looking legendarily sheepish, acutely wishing that his teeth weren't a dead giveaway as to what he was.

"Yes, the scathingly vile, ill-bred, unkempt, rotten lot of them," Nicoletta breathed contemptuously.

A dragging-sounding, " _Oh_ ," escaped Sparrow and from that point on, he no longer had the courage to look her in her lustrous, beguiling eyes. "We could have a problem then," he hedged, all shifty-eyed until he felt her eyes heavily upon him, which forced him to meet hers.

As she sat there, regarding him curiously, the girl warily inquired, "What sort of problem?"

"Well, this might come as a shock, fair Nicoletta...but, I see it as my duty to inform ye that... _I'm a pirate_... _Captain Jack Sparrow_...at your service. You're aboard me ship, The Black Pearl, home to a veritable cozy nest of pirates." He took off his hat for her.

Before Nicoletta dared open her mouth, Jack glibly continued:

"Of course, if what we are demands a parting of the ways, just give the word and I'll have you-"

"Have me _what_?" she ordered, staring at Jack with a thoroughly shocked expression on her sorrowful face all the while inching back from him upon the bed.

"Quarantined. Here. In this very setting. Within me cabin, until we sail into the bay of Havana to deliver you there, safe, and sound...and untouched by our soiled and sullied, scurvy-pocked hands. I'll bring yer food to that very door, set it outside for you to carry inside, and slither away into the darkness...Miss."

"I didn't mean," Nicoletta hastily began amending.

"That we truly are soiled and sullied, scurvy-pocked...miscreants, Dearie?"

"Please, I didn't mean to offend you. I, I didn't know. Had no idea what you are, Captain...Sparrow. Truly, I did not. You saved my life and have treated me royally. It pains me that I spoke thoughtlessly and have aggrieved you." She hung her head, behaving the definition of contrite.

"No offense taken...love. And in no way are we sympathetic with those louts what tried to deflower such a fair, rare flower as ye-self." Again, bowing all the way to the cabin deck, Jack insisted, "It will be my sincerest pleasure personally seeing to whatever comfort you require, dear Nicoletta." He presumed, gloating that he had her ear well in hand, "Might I be so bold as to inquire if I may call you Nica?"

Relief rolled off of her and she obliged, "Indeed, you may, Captain. My friends call me the very same."

His quirky grin preceded his words.

"Then, since I'm greatly certain we should become the best of one of those, I insist you call me...Jack." He batted his mischievous eyes at her and plied her with his roguish charm, undiluted. "Nica...as I said...I'm at your service. What immediate comfort do you desire?" By this time, he had cozied up to her, his hands planted squarely upon the loose description of a bed and his demeanor was a testimony to his utter yen for lovely ladies.

"Might I have a private place in which to bathe? I feel as though I've been in seawater most of my life, and reek of as proof."

Scratching his head where his hat sat, once he'd covered his head with it again, Jack's perplexed look was superbly comical. It was best to let her think bathing aboard The Pearl was as natural as breathing. "Done!" Jack accorded, trying to come up with something as fast as he could without giving it away that he had no idea how to fulfill her simple request for satisfying her pressing desire for seeing to personal hygiene.


	5. Chapter 5

"Such a beautiful girl. Such a beaut-y..." That had become Jack's mantra, which was why he'd handily come up with a solution to Nica's bathing requirement. A barrel of their sweet drinking water, warmed by the sun, Jack had ordered be toted down to his cabin for her exclusive use. Not one man dissented, as keen as he was to see to the nymph's comfort and hygiene. So they'd be a bit thirsty. A small price to pay, making the comely, soft-spoken enchantress happy. Pike had even offered to launder her ruined dress. His mum had taught him how to take what might appear to be so befouled and transform it back into something wearable again by using unlikely agents found aboard as detergents.

"Every time I look at her, and she looks at me with those temptress eyes of hers...I feel me heart thump with a thumping I've never felt it make before."

Gibbs gave a hearty laugh, looking at Jack with soul searching eyes. The older man's mouth twitched at the corners.

In that moment, startled, Jack realized in all its horror that he'd been babbling this twaddle right out loud, in the earshot of Joshamee and two newer members of the crew who'd signed on with Sparrow at the last port they'd docked and eventually weighed anchor in.

The new crewmen were sniggering, and Joshamee never bothered to spare them a reproving look.

Gibbs, at his captain's side, put to Jack, "I trust the highborn, genteel miss finds her bathing arrangements to her liking?"

Re-absorbed in his own fanciful, self-gratifying thoughts, Jack trained his eyes on what lay directly ahead of the Pearl...the vast, rolling sea and clear blue sky with a tapestry of fleecy white clouds hovering above the horizon. All the while, he conjured up the slim, shapely girl that was using his cabin as her personal boudoir, with his compliments and blessing.

"I say, Captain, did your order meet with the lady's approval? Is she comforted?" Gibbs verbally jabbed, eyeing Jack curiously.

Having caught the tail end of what his longtime first mate had said, Jack, sounding distracted, simply replied, "Aye."

He went back to imaging her bathing in that barrel that used to hold rum. Perhaps some of its essence lingered to scent her skin with that glorious scent. Temptation upon temptation, Jack mused with a wistful gleam in his eye.

"Admit it Jack, you're quite taken with the lass. Why, I've never seen you go for even five minutes without quaffing rum. And here you are, all bright-eyed and clear-headed...more sober than I've ever seen ye in I can't remember how long. I'd say she's caused a decided change in you." Gibbs couldn't resist winking at his friend slyly. "Pity her stay with us shall run its course soon enough."

Overhead, a gaggle of white-necked gulls soared high above and agilely along with the Pearl as the ship made steady progress forward, slicing through deep blue waves and frothy foam that sent up salty, dynamic sprays. The wind was with them and they were doing roughly thirty-five knots. At this rate they'd reach Havana by tomorrow.

Why had he promised to deliver her there, to her kin? He'd much rather prefer she stay aboard, come away with him, allowing him to show her just how vast and exciting this wide world of going wherever one wanted to go was. Though, she didn't strike him as the adventurous sort, as Elizabeth was at heart, still, Jack was certain he might convince Nickita to 'test the waters' of his life that was never dull, he undeniably willing to show her what she was missing.

But, no. That wasn't what he'd promised her. He would bring her to Havana so she could be with her relatives, and that would be that, their parting of the way. Never to see her again. Jack wilted upon the ship's wheel, feeling suddenly depleted and surly. How could he have promised her otherwise? The bewitching girl had him under her spell, not even trying, which made her charms all the more potent.

"She could be persuaded to change her mind..." The wheels had long begun to turn in Jack's mind. What sort of persuasion? _You can be so charming, Jack, when you want something..._

Angelica's words never left off dogging him, past and present.

Gibbs shot him a look smacking of disbelief, pointed and unforgiving. "And what would induce her to do that? Stay aboard a ship of incorrigible pirates? Jack, Jack, you do have it bad." Yet his friend all these many years was not giving him an ounce of empathy. Jack Sparrow was many things, but hangdog over a woman was not one of them.

So...what was he now?

"Jack...she's too much a lady for the likes of you. Best you be forgettin' you ever set eyes on her. You'd think you would've learned your lesson after your carrying-on with the Swann-Turner woman."

Jack mutely disagreed, not even grunting in protest. The thought of his being rejected did inexplicably dark things to his psyche. He shut his eyes, remembering every syllable Elizabeth had ever uttered. Over her? He could tell himself he was, but his heart held a different opinion. He was moving on, but somewhere betwixt being absolutely positive that Elizabeth pretended to be over him, and he being on the rebound.

His heart was tied in knots and he muttered something Gibbs had trouble deciphering. Yearning roiled at Jack's core, made him fidgety as he looked out over the sea.

Down in his cabin, the unsuspecting lady in question luxuriated in her makeshift tub. Her submersion in fresh water was a balm. There was even soap, perfumed and a delight. Jack had taken great pride in telling her how it had come from one of the finest shops in Aruba. He left out the part about his shoplifting. Those towels carefully placed upon the bunk had come from the same shop; his sleight of hand also responsible for their being in his possession. Nicoletta eyed them happily. True, these circumstances were a far cry from the comforts she was used to, but she wasn't the sort to turn her nose up at any kindness shown her. A fact every man on this ship would attest to readily, judging from what they'd already seen for themselves. Though cultured and no stranger to the finer things in life, Nicoletta Faberge was no snob.

It wasn't beneath her to laugh right along with them as they joked, and share some of her own anecdotes, all considerably less ribald than theirs. Marty, Pike, Bollard and Scrum were her biggest fans. Gibbs harbored a secret liking for the unpretentious maiden, whom, he'd be the first to admit, was a breath of fresh air aboard the Pearl.

Yes, she was among pirates, but for the most part, they weren't the obnoxiously infamous kind, as far as she could tell. She was sure that this captain, Jack Sparrow had to have been a gentleman of some merit at some point in his life. The man was Charm standing upright on two legs. As promised, Pike had transformed her dirty, sodden eyesore of a dress into the clean, smart frock she'd worn before those scoundrels had tossed her overboard. The same could be said for her nickers, every bit as clean as her dress now. Nicoletta's full lips curved into a smile and within herself, her heart felt light, like a thistle on a gentle breeze.

As her gaze lazily flowed out through the cabin's large bay window aft, glimpsing the rise and fall of proud waves and diverse whitecaps, her thoughts wound around the thought that she was on a pirate ship. Electricity prickled along her skin. If it hadn't been for their rescuing her, she would in all probability have died. Exposure and being at the mercy of the sea's ravenous creatures predictably made death happen. Although the water she bathed in was more tepid now, Nica involuntarily shivered. But, when she concentrated on the generosity and solicititiousness of one pirate in particular, she calmed. She'd be all right; this captain of theirs was a good man, deep down. She had no proof positive, holding that opinion. It went deeper than anything rational. It was his vibes, the ones he gave off without really trying. The ones which led her to trust him...and led her to believe that when it was time for them to say goodbye, leaving him behind would not be a cut and dry affair.

"I think I should check to make sure she's all right," Jack confided to Gibbs, who resumed smirking at him.

"You do that, and you'll earn a slap across your face for your brashness," the first mate guaranteed.

"If you're suggesting that I'd barge in straight away, you're wrong, man. Dead wrong." Jack laced the smirk he paid Gibbs with a generous allowance of sarcasm.

"Ha," was Gibbs' swift comeback, and was about to heap more reckoning upon Jack, when the sudden sight of Nica standing on the deck at midships siphoned his words.

Both men stared in sheer amazement, stunned into silence by the astounding sight of her. Her hair, long and flowing, shone like Midas' gold in the sun. Her once soiled, unsightly dress was no longer an eyesore. She wore the stark white dress with its form-fitting, ruffled bodice like a ballroom gown. Pike had performed quite the admirable miracle. No siren, nor mermaid was she; she was a woman of blood, flesh and bone, with her face upturned to the sun, looking at peace with the world.

Jack's quivering heart swelled with that uncanny emotion he had almost made a mission to disavow, until now. He had all the earmarks, and Gibbs couldn't hold back from calling him out, capitalizing on his friend's uncharacteristic infatuation, as though it could have been shouted from the masthead. "If I didn't know you any better...Jack, I'd say you look like a man in... _love_. But, since I know better than to think you'd fall in love at first sight, I'll say-"

"You've said enough as it is." Shooting Gibbs a scowl, coupled with chastising eyes, Jack commanded, "Take the wheel, you well-meaning, but riotous seadog. Me tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that she needs...me undivided attention. I'm more than obliged to give her a tour of me first and only love, after the sea...me _Pearl_."

As Gibbs watched the master of the Black Pearl swagger, weave and wend his way to the fair, unsuspecting female creature who was fingering the rigging at the moment, he muttered under his breath, "Aye...that kind of attention is the likes of which you've never been able to handle with any sort of success."

"Feeling shipshape?" Jack cajoled, sidling up to Nica, paying her a knowing look. Although cocky, a strange reserve stole over him. She awed him, keeping his audacity at bay.

What was he asking? She had to think a moment, soon caught on and nodded with a grin tugging the corners of her mouth upward. "Marvelously so, all thanks to you and your thoughtfulness...and your respectfully obedient crew. Many, many thanks, Captain...Spa-Captain Jack." Her smile outshone the noon sun.

He yearned to reach out to stroke her dewy, fresh-scrubbed cheek closest to him. Refraining, he fantasized about drawing her in for a kiss. Still refraining, as hard as that was, he merely smiled at her sweetly, in no way toying with her like a cat with a mouse. Her gaze was drawn to him like a moth to a flame as she regarded him from under her long eyelashes.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Nicki," Jack purred, then amended, lending a more Latin flair to it. "Niquita..."

As she blushed, she replied, "That's what my mum calls me. Has, ever since I was little."

" _Niquita_ ," Jack repeated, this time more slowly, winding his tongue around each exotic syllable. Not completely winning the battle to douse the smolder blazing in his eyes. "Might I interest you in having lunch...with me."

"I'd like that very much indeed," Nica assured him, the blush on her cheeks setting them aglow.

In his chest, his heart swelled, almost painfully. He spread his hands as if to say, _this way then, my delectable guest. You'll feast on the best I have to offer, while all the while...I'll feast me eyes on you. Only you._

Right before he began showing her the way to his private mess, off the galley, excruciating pain knifed his brain, and he fought with himself like mad not to let on that anything was wrong.

Inside his mind, the angry voice boomed: _Jack! What's keeping you? Why haven't you arrived at World's End yet? I'll tell you why! You're betraying me and I won't stand for it! I won't! Jack...stop hurting me anymore than you already are..._

"What's wrong?" Nicoletta asked anxiously, eyeing him with keen concern.

With his hands at the sides of his head, and staggering, Jack groaned, "Headache. I get them out of the blue like this. They're torture." He bumped against the gunwale railing, shutting his eyes tight, looking diseased. Springing into action, she wrapped her arm around his middle to shoulder his weight, encouraging him to lean heavily against her so she could help him to his cabin.

"I'll be all right," Jack repeated several times.

"Let me help you, after all you've done for me," Nica insisted, helping him along.

Scrum came on the scene and lent his support too.

"Let's get him to his cabin," she instructed.

"Right, Miss. As you say..."

"Honestly, I'll be fine. Fine!" Jack remonstrated, but couldn't shake how awful he felt, as though the deck beneath his feet was a pit he sank deeper and deeper into.

"Yes, once we lay you down and apply a hot towel to your head," Nica decided, and neither Scrum, nor Jack dared dissuade her otherwise. "Now, I'll have no more discord from you."

Mumbling, Jack backed down. "Please yourself, then. We have an accord."

"No, I'm not pleasing myself. It's you I'm intent to please. Is that clear?"

"Quite," was all Jack could manage as the pain in his head intensified.


	6. Chapter 6

She held the cool, damp cloth, one that was dingy and dank, in need of a good washing, to Jack's perspired forehead. In delirium, he jabbered, "No, Angelica, nay. Nay. I haven't forsaken thee. Haven't-haven't! Angelica...Angelica..." He couldn't stop spouting the exotic name, writhing and twisting all the more with every tortured breath.

Nica pressed the cloth even firmer against his head, hearing him mumbled the woman's name again. She had no other recourse but to think he spoke the name of some erthswhile love. His wife, perhaps? Or a cherished inamorata? "Hush. There, there now. It's all right. Never fear. I'm sure you'll be with your beloved in due course." Seeing him like this clawed at her heart. She fell into a quandary, wondering if the lady he pined for felt as impassioned about him.

The sound of her dulcet voice dragged him out of his _delirio_.

In the throes of voicing the first syllable of his name, Nica cut herself off abruptly owing to Jack interrupting her.

"At World's End!" he erupted, startling her with wide, wild eyes that seemed to whirl in his eye sockets. There was genuine alarm in his voice. But for as long as he regarded her, he calmed, relieved that he wasn't trapped in some dreadful nightmare, still. "Oh...hello there, dearie. It would seem we keep winding up in bed together, eh?"

Digesting his innuendo, but not giving his suggestive air and demeanor a second thought, Nica replied, "How're you feeling?"

"Strange."

"I shouldn't doubt it," she chipped in, fiddling with the clammy cloth. Why must he look at her with those provocative eyes of his? Those deep brown instigators, which had no trouble discomforting her. She warmed as she reddened under his steady gaze. "You've been out and raving for some time now."

Jack held his tongue, just taking in the fetching, readily prepossessing sight of her, tantalizingly close to him. Through the aft window he saw the darkness was being offset by the dawn. _Out for some time is it_...he thought. "And you've been seeing to me all the while, my dear?"

"Yes, for the most part, Captain-"

"I thought I'd made it perfectly clear you're to call me Jack," he jogged, putting it to her mildly.

" _Jack_ ," Nica obediently repeated, chancing a shy smile.

Trepidation gnawed the pit of his stomach. Where were they? Close to Cuba? How close? While these questions bombarded his mind, several short raps on his cabin door scattered them like baby chicks being chased by an overzealous hound. When had been the last time he'd shed tears? He thought and couldn't recall. But, shutting his eyes, behind their lids, the sting of tears claimed his eyes. A promise was a promise, but what if he asked her to stay on? Asking was better than detaining her against her will. Living up to what pirates usually did. What if he just came right out and asked her to remain because her doing so would please him greatly?

Acting stoutly on impulse, Jack seized her hand closest to him and pressed it into his chest; beneath her squeezable little hand, his heart thumped like bass drum. A predatory gleam flickered in his eyes to accompany the trickster's twinkle. He was more than a little certain that consent thrummed underneath her delicate skin. Her eyes, holding his steady gaze betrayed her. Failing to resist what her read what her eyes told him, he pressed her hand to his lips. Nica did nothing to dissuade him. In fact, she looked rather pleased, and yet startled at the same time.

She taunted him, not doing so intentionally. Flames danced in his eyes. She had no idea how potent her effect was on him as she faintly breathed, "I say-"

"What say you?" he invited, holding her hand, feeling it quiver, while locked securely in his hands.

Before she could think to reply, let alone retort, Master Gibb's stentorian voice boomed from his position stationed on the quarterdeck. "Avast! _Cuba_ dead ahead, mateys. Heave-to and ahoy. Drop anchor and await further orders from the Captain!"

Nightfall was coming on strong as twilight dimmed out beyond Jack's cabin aft window. The largest of the Caribbean islands filled the lens of the trusty spyglass.

Nica thought she heard Jack mutter, "Drat," as he continued boring holes in her lovely head with those worshipful eyes of his never straying from her countenance, and his mercurial temperament bubbling beneath his complicated surface. She read surprise in Jack's eyes, a bare moment's flash of wonder.

"We're here. Actually here!" Seeing no reason to contain her enthusiasm that had merged with her outright thankfulness once again for his determination to deliver her to her final destination, which she'd never dreamed of reaching when she'd been cruelly adrift, Nica fell upon Jack's body that was warm and firm beneath hers. His anatomy, a lithe divan of whipcord muscle upon which to lounge filled her with indescribable pleasure, unchartered territory. He was nothing like... _Leslie-Marc Framington_ , back in London, a pouty banker, a man fifteen years her senior, whom her father felt she should marry. Jack represented all the undrawn portions of the map of her limited experience of life. For the most part, her romantic life. She was a mere reader of Romance. A bookworm only, yet to taste the mystery and mayhem of the word. Was it wayward for her to fill in the gaps of her knowledge, just a little?

"It would seem..." Jack reluctantly set her hand free, not quite looking as contrite as the situation warranted. Still, he could've asked her to stay...but he did not. "Your journey aboard the Pearl is at an end."

 _Was that disappointment couched in his sirenic voice_ , she conjectured. She hazarded to think so, but before she went out on a limb, to feel him out on the subject, the first mate was rapping on the cabin door, urging Sparrow to make his intentions clear. The cover of darkness would do nicely. Of course they'd anchor themselves well beyond Havana Bay to avoid any nasty interventions from seafarers intent on thwarting pirates, ultimately scuttling them. It also made perfect sense not flying the Jolly Roger while they remained in these waters controlled by the Spanish. There was safety in keeping substantial distance between themselves and Cuban shores.

"It would seem..." And that was disappointment laced with her tone.

"Come, come then. Let's get you ashore." No longer suffering from whatever eerie ailment that had rendered him addled a while ago, Jack scrambled out of his bunk, leaving Nica eyeing him curiously.

"Who's getting me ashore?" she questioned with a detachment that beguiled Jack.

 _Tell her you want her to stay-tell her-tell her_...relentlessly inflicted him, causing his head to reel. He shook it, and summoned his resolve to let her go not fail him. "Why, I will conduct your safe passage personally. Right to your relatives' doorstep." His hand was over his heart and if he'd been attired in the suitable garb, he could've passed for a decorated British naval officer, pledging undying allegiance to King and Country. "Into the longboat with us," he ushered, his heart not altogether in the venture. Internally, he chanted: 'It's the right thing to do, and of late, doing the right thing isn't entirely without merit.' "The quicker we're afoot, the sooner you reside in the bosom..." Where his eyes were, on hers... "Of your beloved family." He palmed her cheek in his hand, his sea-roughened palm impossibly gentle upon her. "Your stay with us..." He'd almost said, "me..." Following his wistful, truncated sigh, he sweetened, "Albeit short, has been...a festivity." Her right hand was in his so he could kiss her pearly, almond-colored knuckles.

Nica, unsteady in her own skin, let her hand remain against his lips curved in a silky smile. He was pillaging her heart, without firing a single shot.

He was nothing like pirates were rumored to be. His pre-possessing charm beguiled her. It being far more perilous than brute strength or a sharp blade. Her heart danced as it soared, thoroughly under his cryptic spell. What would she do? How could she stay, but how could she go? She did the only thing she knew she must. "From the bottom of my heart, kind sir, I am forever in your debt." She walked with him to the cabin door. He opened it. With the door ajar, Gibbs was nowhere to be seen. Taking his arm once he offered it, Jack wordlessly begging her to take it, Nica obliged, "Shall we?"

Jack, far giddier than any rum would have made him, genuflected and earnestly assured, "Indeed...we _shall_."

Scooting her svelte body closer to him, Nica felt him shudder as they made their way topside. "I won't forget you, Captain Jack Sparrow. Not ever."

He whispered back, relaxing his mouth against the shell of her ear, which tempted him like some forbidden fruit, "Nor I you, brilliant Nica..."


	7. Chapter 7

"It won't be long now, luv," Jack promised, giving Nica a somber, although it was mixed with ginger, look. His kohl-rimmed eyes flickered in the half-light. He pulled on the oars of the longboat, as he hazarded a glance over his shoulder. Twilight it was and the docks of Havana loomed larger as they neared the harbor. He spied a pier that would do and altered course ever so slightly. He rowed more slowly then, wanting full cover of darkness before they moored the Pearl's weathered little longboat and they disembarked.

"Jack," Nica said, with her eyes roving the darkening landscape of the prosperous tropical island nation. The name of the street where her relatives lived flashed in her mind's eye. Delicate dots of torchlights peppered the varied dwellings of Havana. The air was balmy as the light breeze tickled her nose.

"Yes, Luv?" he rejoined receptively, grunting a little in his expenditure of effort. He was fit and lean, but making way from his ship all this way was no small task. It had been his wish that he escort her personally, no one else tagging along to report back just how over the moon their captain was with this wench he forbade they call her. Game though he was, Jack was tiring, but made cocksure he hid his state from the lovely, wide-eyed lady. He wished her last impression of him to be a memorably good one.

Was it too late, and too seamy of him? Of course he could be sleazy; had been any number of times. Would she hate him if he changed his mind? Right here, and now, kidnap her like any wicked pirate was born to do? He fell into a profound reverie as he continued to row. Funny how, as he had his eyes trained on her once again, she held his baser instincts at bay, as though she wielded some sort of cleansing power over him. Banishing the poison which had tarnished his nobler nature over time.

He couldn't hold her against her will. He was far too taken with her for perpetrating anything like that. Her gratitude would turn to hate, and she'd have true cause.

"Where will you go after you leave me here?"

 _I don't want to leave you, Luv, that's the truth of it_...

The last of what she'd asked burdened his heart as she sat across from him. Keeping up appearances, despite his brave face sagging, he threw her his endearing grin that glinted by moonlight. She had asked him recently, he recalled, how many gold teeth did he have.

"To the ends of the earth..." he cryptically answered, hearing Angelica's name wafting on the wind. Ah, yes, dear Angelica; he supposed she wouldn't stop haunting him until he stood in front of her, keeping his promise. Would he be saving her from that strange prison, or from herself? This was far from the first time he'd pondered this, and wouldn't be the last.

"That sounds wonderfully romantic," Nica extolled, her facial expression whimsical, youthful and heartbreakingly perfect.

" _Nica_..."

"Yes?"

"It's been my impossibly fertile delight seeing you safely here. But, as I'm sure you must know. Romance...is in the eye of the beholder." His lips trembled imperceptively as he confessed, "I've a commitment to an old friend what needs paying."

Though the argent moonlit night, whose elegant darkness cloaked their clandestine arrival, was tropically warm, Nica shivered. Voluntarily, her eyes drank in the wily pirate's look of poignancy, tempered by longing, and her heart fluttered within her tightening chest.

"Commitment's becoming less and less binding these days," Nica acknowledged as though she wasn't excluding herself from that observation.

"I'd say depends who's being committed to has much to do with it," Jack opined, skillfully sliding the longboat into a slip not being used at the moment. Although not very late, the dock was deserted save for one or two characters who could've doubled as long lost relatives of Jack. They weren't exactly pirates, but they weren't exactly upstanding citizens either.

As Nica and Jack made their way away from the anchorage, it was readily evident that something was off about the sleepy harbor. Despite there being signs of normalcy, there was also an aura of disruption clinging to the place. The few folks walking about seemed to be going at it dazedly. Jack couldn't put his finger on it as he whispered to his girlishly subdued companion, "Which way to your kin's dwelling?" His eyes darted about, sizing up a situation that left him with a queer hollowness burrowing into the pit of his stomach.

"I've never been here..." she stammered, looking lost, but determined to ask the next person who happened by where _Calle Asombroso_ was. She asked it of a squat, slack-jawed man who divulged what she needed to know after, amazingly, Jack, eager to grease the wheel, so to speak, forked over a few coins of middling value. But the man, on the edge of desperation grasped the paltry sum gladly.

In a raspy, small voice, the raven-haired, snaggletooth wretch obliged, " _No es muy lejos_...vaya dos bloques mas, y entonces da una vuelta izqueirda. _Era la casa amarilla_... _antes del huracan_...hace un mes."

Jack knew next to nothing of Spanish, except that he liked his _arroz y frijoles_ greasy and salty, and that went for various _senoritas_ as well. But, he instantly recognized the dreaded word that regularly spelled death and destruction for most things unfortunate enough to fall in its catastrophic path. "Hurricane?" he pronounced like a death sentence.

"What happened to the family living there?" Nica, with hysteria rising, gasped, her voice mirroring the horror of which her eyes bespoke.

" _Como puedo saber eso_?" the vagabond rasped, already stagger-stumbling away.

"How should you know?" Nica raggedly translated, looking like someone breaking free from a horrific nightmare. Having gone deathly pale, she began trembling uncontrollably, so Jack, bent on calming her, clamped an arm around her shoulders, welding her in place beside him.

"Let's go have a look for ourselves, Luv," he funneled into her ear, whispering. "It's going to be all right. Mark me words." Profound concern, as deep as the oceans he loved, had caused that sentiment to leap from his lips.

The denizen of the streets never spared her or Jack another look, but just kept muttering in Spanish, "What do I look like? A tour guide? _Un guia turistico_?" He disappeared around a tight corner. They heard him curse first in Spanish and then brokenly in English.

"What if...what if...they-they're dead?" Nica said, doing her best trying to tamp down her whimpering, not very successfully.

"We won't know that unless we investigate what happened." Patting her arm, which turned into smoothing the palm over her upper arm's fine, soft skin Jack insisted in cooing tones, "I've got ya, Luv, no matter what turns up."

Something sincere and tranquilizing in his patient, kindly entreaties galvanized her resolve to move forward, come what may. "All right. Let's find out. Thanks once again for all you've done, and are willing to do...for me...a complete stranger."

Arching his brow and his tone, Jack replied, "There's nothing complete about your being a stranger, Luv. I've come to know you're someone worth sticking my neck out for. And that's something I don't do rashly since I'm quite fond of me own neck."

Looking at him with soulful eyes, she moved close to his cheek, kissing it gently. "No matter what I find...I shouldn't want anyone but you here with me at a time like this..."

"As do I, Luv. As do I..."

Not long after this exchange, pirate and lady stood in the front yard of what had once been an inviting home, but had been reduced to piles of rubble. As what was often the case, neighboring houses evidenced only minor damage. The occupants of those homes that had been spared were loath to break the hard news to the heartbroken girl. Yes, her mum's cousin, Vera de la Sirena-Vega, and the cousin's husband, Alberto Alejandro Vega were among the victims of the island's most recent _tormenta_. It was an utter miracle that more of the population hadn't perished. The gale force winds of the hollering hurricane had lashed and battered; the rains had poured down without cessation for nearly five days. When it was all over, the slain had been collected, their bodies burned in many a pyre to stave off the spread of virulent disease.

Nica slumped against Jack, her desperate eyes swollen from the outpouring of so many tears. He encouraged her to sit because she looked all too ready to spill to the ground. Nestled beside her, he let her cry. Cry it out as he hugged her tightly, feeling her pain of loss tingle his nerve endings.

It wasn't all right as he'd promised, but as she anchored herself alongside him, the storm within her raging, she felt the calm after the storm slowly but surely come.

"What will I do now?" Nica asked, breathing it hoarsely, her voice roughened by the streams of tears she'd shed.

"Nothing," Jack comforted, tenderly stroking her hair, the glow in his eyes soft and low. His heart overflowing with compassion, and something far more weighty, he wished he could make things right. "What you're doing is all that can be done. Grieve." After a while, he gently added, "I'll do whatever it is you need me to do. I'll...I'll..." He thought quickly, then vowed, "I'll take you home."

"Do what?" she erupted, dumbfounded, sniffing.

He repeated, "I'll sail you back home. To England, Luv. To your mum and dad. Putting in at World's End shall have to wait. I'll get you back to 'jolly-ole' safe and sound. You have me word."

Gazing deeply into his eyes, Nica excitedly exclaimed, "But, but I can't. I don't want to go back there! I can't. Don't want to. No!"

Matching her excitement, an incredulous Jack inquired, "And why's that?"

"I'd planned to stay with this part of my family. Perhaps coax some happy lad to wed me, and stay put here, for good. I never wanted to become Sir Leslie-Marc Framington's dutiful, sulky trophy...bride. I'd sooner die!"

"Oh..." Jack's face brightened, then immediately he deadpanned. "Do tell, dearie. Go on. Do go on, then. Tell your Jackie all about it." His cheeky smile was wider than the sliver of silvery moon hanging high above their heads.


	8. Chapter 8

Back aboard the Pearl, Nica did as Jack had requested; she told him what her dutiful, yet pragmatic father wanted for his only child. Marriage to a man of noble birth, a man old enough to be her father. She'd be a very rich woman, but one poorer in spirit. A forlorn wife that would wallow in the depths of despair, and be expected to play false to her wedding vows behind her old husband's wizened, bowed back. But she did not possess a cheater's heart. Marrying for love was her deepest desire. Always had been.

And she doubted very much if the old gentleman would be capable of giving her a child, which she very much wanted to have, one day.

When she told Jack of this, his heart fell deeper under her subtle, though potent spell. "So...what would you have me do for ye, lass?"

Softly, she answered, "I...don't...know..."

His heart leading him on, and as he poured her a spot more rum in the wide-mouthed goblet, stolen from a Spanish household in Cadiz, Jack confessed, "You're more than welcome to sail with us, luv..." His fondest wish, which it had become, of late. "Don't make a rash decision, poppet. Take all the time ye need." But he hoped he wouldn't have to wait too long. Just as he hoped she would agree to travel the seven seas with him. Knowing he possessed puppy dog eyes that had a way with swaying ladies' hearts, he used them to their fullest effect. Nica just stared at the goblet, a warm fuzzy feeling suffusing her, from the soles of her feet to the tip of her cute nose.

"I feel so very lost, you see..." she told him in a soft, mournful trailing voice. "My father wants this match. My mum isn't for it, taking my part. Maybe they both think I'm dead, if word has somehow gotten back to them about what happened to the ship I traveled on."

"There, there, dear girl," Jack blandished, rolling his eyes all puckish, as if he were the embodiment of the mythological sprite. As if on cue, he produced what he'd been holding out on her with. Now seemed the perfect time to present his uncanny gyre. "This might help. It's been a curious help to me, these numerous years..." As he grinned, he'd spoken in truth. At World's End, and she who waited for him there, took a backseat, replaced by what Jack wanted most now.

His compass, a most unusual navigational instrument, which could plot a nautical course in the broadest sense of the term was at her disposal. He'd tell her how to use it, hoping by its use, she'd reveal what it was she wanted most, at the moment.

"Take it, Luv..." he blarneyed, champing at the bit, as it were, for her to get the problematic device into her hands.

In a bit of a tizzy, owing to the little rum she'd already consumed heightening her curiosity, Nica squinted at the compass she now held. "How does it work, perceiving what one wants most?"

"Can't say for certain, but it works its wonders with that sort of thing." And he would know since the things he'd wanted most had eluded him up to now. "It's pointing, isn't it?" He debated whether to confirm what he hoped, wanting to see that the needle pointed in his direction. Before he could end the suspense, Nica looked away from the compass and pointedly at Jack.

"It's spinning around, and around, and 'round..." The little needle was on a tear, whirling rebelliously. Nica was the picture of being taken aback; she'd never seen anything the likes of this sort of thing. The fine little hairs on the back of her neck had fully risen. "What do you think it means?" she whispered.

Looking and sounding as taken aback as she, Jack bit his lip. He had no idea, as dismay filled him more than rum. Obviously, he wanted her far more than she wanted him. Well, she'd just confessed she didn't know what she wanted him to do for her. Wouldn't you know it...but, perhaps she might feel differently...in time. After all, she was in his debt. Surely that indebtedness could pave the way for something grand. Meaningful, and authentic. If this last adventure, hunting up the Trident, had taught him anything, treasure was in the eye of the beholder. He, here, sharing his rum and his compass with Nica felt satisfying. Surely, didn't he deserve a little realness before he died? He'd be patient; ply her with the finest of his gentlemanly ways. He gave her a sweet, slow smile and purred, "You're open to suggestions..."

Arching an eyebrow, Nica replied, "You'd like me to stay on, wouldn't you." There wasn't a hint of inquiry in her tone, nor any trace of her being coy.

"Whatever's your fancy, m'Lady."

"Would you think less of me if I choose to sail wherever it is you're going? I, the only woman aboard your Pearl." She eyed the goblet, ringing its rim with her pinky finger. She shut her eyes with a smile that nearly took Jack's breath away. Even as a scruffy knave of a stowaway, he'd never known just how hard his heart could beat before this. What was she? Temptress, or an ivory tower, too lofty for him? She was betrothed to a gent of high station, certainly far superior to his. What if he hadn't been born into this rough and tumble, dangerous and dirty walk of life? This pirate's life? Did he still believe life without troubles was intolerable, a kind of waking death as one stumbled, bent on bumping into happiness?

Was he happy? Had he ever truly been?

Maybe it wasn't too late. Too late for what, making another life for himself? One that included the love of an honest woman? A true lady. But, he needed more than what he had now to give to a woman of that sort. This woman, who'd taken his heart prisoner. What if that fabled treasure, promising the rulership of wind and tides, the one Angelica never failed to dangle before him like a carrot, really existed? The Pearl heaved beneath them as the late night wind filled billowing black sails. "I'll think more of you, Luv. And, what's more...I'll show you things the stuff of dreams. You 'ave me word." And she had his heart, despite the eerie echoes of Angelica's demands spiraling in his brain. Her insistent voice, commanding that he stop delaying. The longer he took, the more domineering she would become.

How would she take his showing up with this rapturous creature? He needn't have wondered. He could practically hear Angelica curse him into dust as she raved.

Nica, a little under the influence of her first run-in with rum, and wholly swept up in Jack's unerring mystique, unhesitantly, cupped her hands around his. "You're sure my staying, my being here won't be a bother?" What if he said, _yes, it would_. She should be where she belonged. Living with gentler, more genteel folks. She had no business throwing in with pirates. She didn't see them as such, not anymore. They were men, some young, some old, who had chosen to seek their fortune on the high seas. Her suppositions they'd confirmed, although she hadn't been with them very long. They most assuredly weren't the bloodthirsty, scurvy kind of brigands. As far as she knew, they were decent sorts. They had their captain, Jack Sparrow, a good man, setting the bar.

Perhaps, a long time ago, he'd lived another kind of life, as she sat across from him at his desk, picturing him in London, the long-lost son of some lord. It was highly possible that he'd run afoul of good fortune, having been spirited away from his kin, and had been kidnapped, which had led him to this.

The good captain rolled his big, brown eyes at her and playfully parlayed, "You, a bother? Nonsense. On the contrary..." He leaned down over their nestled hands and applied his lips to her dainty hands. Against her skin, the species of flesh typifying porcelain, he pronounced, "You're golden."

Those cheeks of hers, like porcelain, flushed crimson and Nica stuttered, "N-no." His mustache tickled. His breath on her skin prickled gooseflesh. She glanced at his compass set close to her goblet. "Y-you are."

Above their heads, they heard the cry of a stout-hearted sailor, a man blessed with a deep voice, who had the watch sing out, "The night's along...and time to tell that all's well."

"Indeed," Jack agreed. "All's very well. Ever since you set foot on my ship." His tone deepened, and sounding absolutely serious, he divulged to Nica, "We sail beyond the horizon, you and I...I and you...together." Bringing one of her hands to his lips once more, he breathed, "I wouldn't have it any other way, Luv."


	9. Chapter 9

"So...what do you hope to find when we get to World's End?" Her question sounded innocent enough, but Jack's ears and his interesting knowledge of women had him hearing something else in Nica's tone. She demanded truth.

Up until now, he'd done his best to skirt it as adroitly as possible. Lying to her outright just wouldn't do.

"Alas, World's End bears what one takes with one." Even to his own ears that had sounded vague at best. What had he learned from his baffling experience? Nothing short of confused puzzlement, and that was what he could readily remember. He did recall that one day, aboard the Pearl stranded upon those shifting sands, he'd become many of himself, each Jack vying for his attention. Hark-what mayhem those entire confounding occurrences had been!

How his Pearl had landed back into the sea, to this day he had trouble making sense of what had truly happened. Suffice it was to say that all had become a convenient blur.

While scrunching her forehead, Nica gave him a long, hard stare. Her beautiful countenance belying the confusion that lurked beneath. All she had somewhat understood was that when they reached World's End, there'd be treasure beyond anyone's stretch of the imagination. That thought was very pleasing to Jack, so therefore, it was Nica's wish that he would find what he sought. He'd been nothing but good to her. He deserved to have what he wanted most.

"Actually, Love, there's no telling what unearthly presentiments await us there. What..." He deliberately allowed his shrinking voice to trail. Was she really there? All set to pay him back for having been vile to her? Thoughts of a vengeful Angelica swirled in his mind. The fetching Latina waited for him, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. Every night before he retired to a solitary bunk near enough to his quarters that he'd relinquished for the sake of Nica's comfort, Angelica would invade the recesses of his mind to torment him. Harass him, guilt him, force him to admit how gravely he'd wronged her. Make him promise that as soon as he set foot on World's End, he would make everything up to her. And she in turn would divulge the whereabouts of the enigmatic treasure that promised the control of wind and tide.

"It is my sincerest wish that what be there will make you happy...Love," Jack insisted, tilting his head to squint at the cerulean perfection of the maritime sky.

"I hope there won't be any danger there. I hate danger. It makes me crazy." Her quiver imperceptive, she had shuddered and was reasonably certain that Jack hadn't missed it. "I still can't believe I survived being adrift on the sea." Under her breath, she said, sighing, " _Que dolor agudo. Que danoso_." Then when he called her _picara_ , meaning sassy, to show her he knew still several more words of Spanish, she laughed.

He patted her small hands reassuringly. "Can't say I relish the thought of it either," Jack submitted, enjoying having her stand in front of him, letting her steer The Pearl with her hands upon the massive wheel and his hands resting on the backs of hers. He shortened the gap between them, liking how wonderful her nearness made him feel. "The thing of it is, is getting the best of danger before it gets the best of ye. Savvy?" His eyes twinkled behind her head and, exercising restraint, ever so gently he took the liberty of resting his chin on her right shoulder. Delicately, he repeated, "Savvy?"

"Whatever danger that might present itself, I'll be sure to stick close to you. When I'm with you, I feel safe."

Turning his head slightly into Nica, Jack, with aplomb tempered with reserve, pressed his lips against her elegant neck. Murmuring against her he pertly added, "And allow me to vouch that I feel exactly the same way...me with you, Love." His smile grew broader, hearing the straightforward seafarer giggle, and his golden dental work glinted majestically in the sun. The Pearl listed too far to port, necessitating that Jack exert gentle pressure to Nica's left hand to steady his proud ship.

"I still have much to learn," she freely admitted. Of course, this was only the second time she'd been at the helm.

"Successfully navigating the sea takes time. You haven't been at it as long as I have."

"You're a patient man, Jack Sparrow."

"Many would disagree." His hands slipped from the backs of hers. His wreathed about her waist to cinch her tight. "I'm a man, Love. Just a man, nothing more, but never less. A man who's truly fallen under your spell. A man whose first love is the sea, but you're giving my first love a good run for her money."

Her face burning with heat, Nica confessed, "I've never been in love before. Never truly. Until..." Her hands gripped the wheel, feeling The Pearl shudder beneath her feet as the wind picked up, whipping the waves. Or, was that her heart thumping furiously, whipping up her emotions, she succumbing to their powerful influence...and Jack's.

"Until...the sea delivered you up...to me." Murmuring against the softness of her skin, indulgently he yielded, "My good fortune..."

"No." Her arms were around him and Nica, holding him tight, simply said, " _Mine_."


End file.
